


Unread: >100

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 09:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Get a new phone, they said. It'd be worth it, they said. (or: in which Mòrag can't get the hang of sexting)





	Unread: >100

**Author's Note:**

> morag and brighid are bourgeoisie tbh

`M— COOKING DINNER. FISH SOUND GOOD? FIXED BATHROOM SINK TOO FINALLY.`  
`B— yes, and thank you.`  
`M— BE BACK LATE TONIGHT?`  
`B— maybe. also, please get a new phone or get your current one repaired.`  
`M— NO NEED. THIS ONE WORKS. STUCK CAPSLOCK NOT A PROBLEM. WILL SEE YOU LATER. DRIVE SAFELY.`  
`B— of course, dear.`

Mòrag frowns at her phone. Not at the message— Brighid is always succinct with her texts, knowing Mòrag prefers to speak in person, but at the phone itself. It’s a bulky little thing with buttons and a tiny pixel screen, a genuine relic of an era long past before the current age of sleek chrome and glass touchscreens. _Retro_ , Pyra had once tactfully described it. _Ugly as all hell_ , Zeke later said.

But Brighid just told her to get a new phone. Again. What’s wrong with her current one?

Her phone buzzes noisily in her palm with the arrival of a new message. Maybe Brighid forgot to tell her something.

`N— hey morag did you get a new phone yet???`

Oh. It’s Nia.

`M— NO.`

What odd timing. Why do people keep telling her to get a new phone? Brighid, especially. She even keeps offering to buy one of those fancy new ones for her with her own money, but Mòrag had always declined. No one else seems to accept the fact that she just doesn’t see the point in it. As long as her phone does what it’s supposed to do, which is _make calls and send messages_ , then it’s perfectly fine as far as she cares.

Mòrag’s pulling things from the kitchen cabinets to prep for dinner when her phone buzzes again. She sighs and sets a saucepan down to dig her phone out from her pocket.

`N— i’m sending you a picture of a very cute cat i found outside. seriously, you wouldnt BELIEVE how fluffy this guy is, but too bad your phone won’t let you view pics eh???`  
`N— [ATTACHMENT: ERROR]`  
`N— so how does that make you feel??`

She turns her phone off.

 

* * *

 

Brighid returns to their penthouse apartment just in time to see Mòrag dumping what looks like a saucepan full of ashes into the trash. She clears her throat to announce her presence and Mòrag almost drops the pan, but doesn’t, just fumbles and accidentally spills some of those suspicious ashes on the floor. Something else is smoldering on the stovetop. It’s a wonder the fire alarm hasn’t been set off.

“How is dinner coming along?” Brighid asks, unable to resist smirking. She leans against the kitchen island to watch Mòrag rush to clean up the mess.

“I don’t know what happened!” She throws her hands up. “I followed the recipe _exactly_ , down to the letter. No improvisations nor deviations. I’m beginning to think the universe may be actively discouraging me from attempting to cook.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” Brighid crouches beside her as she cleans to peck her cheek, just because she looks so dismayed over the incinerated fish. Or, whatever it was she was trying to cook. Mòrag did mention fish though, if she recalls.

“I fear I may burn the entire flat down if I so much as attempt to use a toaster,” she mutters. The ashes are swept up and the remnants of the disaster that was Mòrag’s attempt to cook are all buried in the trash, never to be revisited again. She sighs and leans against Brighid, hiding her face against her shoulder. Brighid pats her back. Mòrag smells like something that’s been burned several times.

“I had a feeling something like this would happen, so I picked up some take-out on the way home.”

“See? Even you have a lack of faith in my cooking skills. It simply isn’t meant to be.”

“Hush. You’re good at plenty of other things. It’s not the end of the world.”

Mòrag loudly sighs once more before detaching herself. Perhaps she is being overdramatic, but it truly could be the end of the world. For instance, what if she really did burn down the entire penthouse? The entire apartment building? The entire street?! Although, such hypothetical situations would be extraordinarily unlikely to actually pass. Mòrag isn’t afraid of fire. Come to think of it, maybe that’s the root of the whole problem.

But those are thoughts to be mulled over another time. “I’ll set up the table, then.”

 

* * *

 

Once the dishes are cleared and the mess in the kitchen properly taken care of (the saucepan may be a lost cause, with all that burnt _stuff_ thoroughly caked to it) they settle down together on the sofa. Brighid turns the TV on to some news channel, but it’s meant more as soft background noise.

“By the way,” Brighid says, reaching into Mòrag’s pocket. She grabs her phone before Mòrag can react and dangles it in front of her face like it’s a dirty sock. “We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” She frowns and tries to grab the phone, but Brighid pulls her arm back and out of reach.

“It’s _old._ ”

“And works perfectly fine.”

“The capslock on it has been stuck for three months now.”

“A cosmetic issue. Hardly important.”

“It doesn’t receive or send pictures.”

“It doesn’t need to.”

Brighid stares at Mòrag’s face for a long, long moment. The news anchor is talking about something or other but neither of them are paying the TV any mind. Their staring contest drags on, and on, and… Mòrag tries to grab the phone again. Brighid holds her at bay with one hand.

“Brighid!”

“Why won’t you let me buy you a new one, Mòrag?”

“I’d rather not have you spending your money on something so frivolous!” She says, exasperated, as she practically falls on top of Brighid in her attempts to recover her phone.

“Oh? But I never complain when you buy nice things for _me._ ” That actually gets Mòrag to shut up for a moment. After a moment of consideration, she boldly wraps her arms around Brighid and presses her lips against the spot just below her ear.

Brighid knows she’s probably just dodging the point now, but she allows it and lets one of her hands wander beneath Mòrag’s shirt and up her back, feeling her defined muscles. It’s almost enough to make her forget what she was just thinking about as well. No doubt they’ve both lost track of how much money Mòrag had spent on Brighid over the course of their relationship. And yet, somehow, Mòrag always seems reluctant to accept Brighid’s attempts to reciprocate the gestures.

Not that Brighid feels weird about the whole thing. Frankly, she loves it when Mòrag lavishes her with fine gifts and such, and Mòrag seems to enjoy spoiling her just as much.

“Nia was pestering me about this issue as well.”

She remembers how to speak as Mòrag kisses at her neck. “I might have talked to her about it, once.”

“Hah, no wonder.”

Brighid’s fingers dance across her shoulder blades. Their close proximity is unbearably warm, yet Mòrag tries to pull Brighid closer against herself still. They’re dangerously close to falling off the sofa.

“… I’ll buy one myself,” Mòrag sighs, nuzzling her. “If only to stop your relentless battering.”

“Good. You’ll finally be able to send me pictures.”

“What sort of pictures?”

“I’ll let you know when the time comes."

 

* * *

 

That night, Mòrag has a dream of countless brick cellphones piled high enough to form monuments that spiral into the sky and out of sight. In memoriam, or something. There were other people there. She thinks she might have seen Kora trying to talk into one of the phones.

It didn’t make a lot of sense, but then again, dreams rarely do.

 

* * *

 

Even with the intention of grabbing any random smartphone (what’s the difference between all of them, anyway?) Mòrag ends up buying one of the most expensive models at Brighid’s suggestion. She doesn’t quite see the point, but it feels smooth in her hand and it can apparently do a bunch of stuff, or whatever, so she shrugs and goes along with it.

She’s messing around with it at the penthouse when Brighid texts her.

`B— are you home at the moment?`  
`M— Yes. Day off.`  
`B— send me a picture of something nice.`  
`M— ?`

Something… nice. Ah. The cactus sunbathing on one of the windowsills. There— she takes a picture and sends it over.

`B— that’s not what i meant.`

The succulents in the kitchen, then?

`B— wrong.`

The painting hanging in their bedroom!

`B— wrong again.`

This is driving her mad. Brighid knows perfectly well how much Mòrag hates getting things wrong. She runs a hand through her hair and paces back and forth, stopping only when Brighid messages her again.

It’s a picture. For the very first time, Mòrag receives a picture over text _and_ she’s able to view it properly. And to mark this momentous occasion, it’s a picture of…

Something momentous, indeed.

She slowly sits down.

`M— Are you not at work?`  
`B— the blinds are closed.`

Then Brighid has the gall to send another one, this one from a higher angle and offering a _very_ generous view of her cleavage. How does she save pictures on this stupid thing?

` B— your turn, Mòrag.`

Mòrag doesn’t live under a rock (for the most part). She’s aware of what sexting is. But…

Hm.

She drops the phone on the rug, “accidentally” kicks it under the bed, and goes to make lunch for herself.

Nothing burns, miraculously.

 

* * *

 

“I lost it,” she shrugs.

Brighid narrows her eyes. “What do you mean you _lost it?_ You just bought it yesterday!”

“Strange, isn’t it?”

Or, not so strange at all. Brighid finds her phone in less than a minute. Mòrag has 142 unread messages.

Roughly eighty of them are from Kora. Maybe that dream was a premonition, after all.

 

* * *

 

“It... rattled my nerves, I’ll admit,” Mòrag says over dinner (take-out, again). The phone, that treacherous thing, is sitting on the table next to her bowl. Now and then it buzzes with yet another text from Kora. How she even found out that Mòrag got a new phone is beyond either of them, but there are some things better left unquestioned.

Much to her chagrin, no one, besides Niall, had bothered making an actual call once word got out that Mòrag got a new phone. Her pile of unread texts is steadily building up by the minute. Most of that is still from Kora, though.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Brighid raises one brow, a smile teasing at the corners of her lips. “Unless… you don’t think they were good pictures?”

She almost chokes on a mouthful of rice. “No— no! They were… er, wonderful, I really did like them—“

Brighid bursts out into laughter, setting down her chopsticks. “You’re so easy to tease. I love it.”

Mòrag, likewise, puts her chopsticks down, but to cover her face with her hands. Her phone buzzes again. “You told me to send one in return, but…”

“Come now, surely the great Mòrag Ladair is capable of taking selfies.”

“I can’t cook. I can’t take pictures of myself. I’m an abject failure.” She pushes her bowl aside to make room on the table to rest her forehead on. “No, don’t bother correcting me. Please let me whinge for the sake of whinging.”

The phone buzzes right by her ear. Before Mòrag can lift a hand to sweep it to the floor, Brighid snatches it up.

“We should invite Kora for lunch,” Mòrag mumbles, still admiring the wood pattern of the table up-close.

“You’re _hopeless._ ”

 

* * *

 

Undeterred by Mòrag’s apparent refusal to even try taking a selfie, Brighid decides to help her out.

But they use Brighid’s phone, because Mòrag’s wouldn’t stop buzzing with texts from Kora.

“It’s easy, see?” She loops an arm around Mòrag’s shoulders and pulls her close, holding her phone up. They’re lounging on the bed together. Mòrag’s hair is still damp from her shower. “These aren’t like old-fashioned cameras. You can invert the viewpoint so there’s no need to turn your phone around.”

“I already knew that.”

“Then, here.” She pushes her phone into Mòrag’s hands. “Go on, take a picture of yourself.”

Rather awkwardly, Mòrag holds the phone up and quickly snaps a picture. She doesn’t even attempt to smile or do _anything_ remotely interesting. With that sort of commitment, she might as well have been taking a mugshot. Brighid sighs.

“Remember when I told you to send me a picture of something nice?”

Mòrag makes some sort of vague gesture with her hands. Her gaze wanders down to Brighid’s chest for a moment, then the moment stretches into a longer moment. Brighid smirks and scoots closer.

“I just don’t see the point, when we see each other every day.”

“It’s supposed to be _fun_ , Mòrag. What did you think of those pictures I sent?”

She goes quiet and looks away, putting her fingers to her chin in serious thought. Apparently. Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“Sublime.”

Of _course_ she would say something like that. With a brief eyeroll, Brighid takes her phone and pushes Mòrag onto her back, quickly straddling her waist before she can try to get up. The bed slightly bounces, and Mòrag sharply inhales as Brighid rests one hand upon her collarbone.

“Do you mind if I take pictures for you, then?” she murmurs into Mòrag’s ear, tracing senseless loops over her skin with a fingertip.

Her face is heating up. Damn it. Her arms and legs feel like jelly and— did her own phone stop buzzing, come to think of it? Well, whatever. “By all means, go ahead.”

Brighid sits up with a pleased smile. What a sight to behold; Mòrag, trapped beneath her, mouth slightly parted and hair splayed, her shirt riding up, so beautifully undignified and perfect. _Picture perfect._

And then her phone buzzes.

`K— hey brighid its me kora did morag see any of my texts like ive been sending her a bunch i mean most of it is like hilarious copypasta i found she doesnt need to respond to those but i did ask her something else about coffee tomorrow at gorg’s shop and she didnt respond to that SO ive been like waiting for a while but its been a day already and idk maybe she hasnt figured out how to use her new phone yet BTW i totes wanna come over and see it cuz its been FO R E VER since morag had a new phone like lmao did she keep her old one and also i told the others about it so like ummm maybe its time for a girls night out oooh that sounds like fun we could all meet up at that one ardainian restaurant morag rly likes and also sheba keeps BLABBING about having another girls night out like lmao dont tell anyone but i think shes rly rly rly into morag but also lol like who wouldnt be and speaking of which azami keeps asking me for morags number but i kno u told me not to give to her and IM KEEPING MY PROMISE BTW UR WELCOME also dahlia got a new pet bunny its super cute just wanted to let u guys know anyway yea tell morag i said hi and to check her dang phone!!!!!!!!! xoxo <3`

Brighid drops her phone on Mòrag’s face.

“Ow—“

“Oh, my bad.”

 

* * *

 

Thankfully Kora seems to have gone to sleep early for once so their phones remain silent throughout the night, and morning arrives without incident. Brighid stretches her limbs with her eyes still closed, and frowns when her arm brushes against an empty space and crumpled sheets beside her.

The smell of something burning is wafting over from the kitchen.

“Mòrag?”

“Nothing to worry about, Brighid! I have it all under control!”

She doubts it, but she also trusts Mòrag not to burn down their penthouse in spite of how disastrous her cooking endeavors may be. Mòrag appears in the doorway while Brighid is in the middle of getting dressed, somewhat haggard and out of breath. There’s flour in her hair. She’s also donning an apron ( _nothing but an apron_ ), which Brighid definitely appreciates more than her attempts at cooking breakfast for them.

“I tried… to make pancakes…”

“Was it easier or harder than your attempt at cooking fish?”

“Harder.”

“Hmm.”

She mutters something and turns to go back to the kitchen where doom and death awaits. There may or may not be a half-cooked, half-burned pancake stuck to the ceiling, which Mòrag isn’t looking forward to cleaning up.

“Mòrag, wait.”

“Yes?”

She turns around just in time to see Brighid snap a photo of her with her phone. “Alright, now you can go.”

 

* * *

 

`N— hey morag i heard you finally got a new phone, wow congrats to you!!`  
`N— kora wouldn’t shut up about it when we met up the other day`  
`N— anyway i guess you’re still going to be ignoring 99% of the texts you receive`  
`N— whatever, i’ll just have kora keep sending you (and brighid) those awful copypastas`  
`N— btw`  
`N— [ATTACHMENT: cat.jpg]`


End file.
